


Don't They Know It's the End

by NervousAsexual



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: I got binders full of Nick whump, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump, You want more Nick whump?, that's not a dated reference at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 21:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17211248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: As he is being torn apart by a super mutant, Nick can't help but be envious of a human body that knows when it's time to let go.





	Don't They Know It's the End

There are a lot of experiences human Nick could have had that as a synth he envies. Sleep, complete with dreams (good, bad, other, doesn't matter). The feeling of security knowing the world hasn't ended yet. The way that massive physical trauma leads to death.

The mutant slams him into the concrete of the overpass and pain erupts down his body. Human damage: concussion, shattered spine. Dead. Instead his body reroutes processes through less damaged pathways. He struggles to pry the mutant's fingers from around him.

The mutant doesn't let go. It's like Nick's no more a bother than a fly would be, a non-irradiated fly buzzing against windows it was too stupid to know it couldn't escape through. It loosens its grip on him for just a moment, long enough for the feeling to rush down through his entire body, searching for what might be broken, and then it's crushing him again. A better grip. Better to drive him face-first into the concrete again. Human damage: unsurvivable facial trauma. Dead. Coolant leaks down his face and he salvages as much of his consciousness as possible.

Tears. The coolant feels like tears. Another thing human Nick had that he wants for himself. Human Nick didn't appreciate it, hated feeling vulnerable, always tried to mask his tears with anger. Nick would give anything for the release of crying. He wants to just sink down in his bed in Diamond City and cry until sleep comes for him. But that's impossible.

The mutant throws him to the ground and stomps down on his body with its full weight. He can feel the joints in his pelvis scream under it before breaking like the manufactured machinery they are. Human damage: mass organ rupture, probably sepsis if it didn't kill him immediately, pieces of broken pelvic bones flying out like shards of glass.  Dead. The pain is like a bad high, like human Nick taking Overdrive and reacting poorly, leaving him stranded on top of a skyscraper feeling dizzy and blind. His body's disabled from the waist down. He's reduced to grabbing at the mutant like a baby grabbing for its mother.

Let it be over soon. It's not a prayer, neither he nor human Nick believes in a god, but a plea to the universe and to himself. It's unnatural to have survived this much. It's making the mutant, not angrier, but more cheerful, it seems like. Nick's just its plaything, one that won't break as easily as the others its had before. He's not thrilled about that. He's not trying to make its life better.

The mutant throws him into the concrete again. Human damage... human damage...

It slams a fist into his body. Broken ribs? Punctured lungs?

A hand envelopes his head--an old fear, the remains of claustrophobia, he's struggling to breathe, but he doesn't need to breathe--and bashes his skull into the concrete again and again and again. His body struggles to find a way to react that would be helpful but can't hold onto a connection to his body. His hands slip as he clutches at the mutant's wrist.

Why can't it be over? Why does he always fight to survive when what comes next is inevitably worse?

The grip tightens, pressure increasing all over his skull, his struggling barely noticed, he would scream except... except...

A hail of gunfire. The mutant squeezes tighter for a single moment before it lets go. It looks at him, streaming with its own blood, confused, before it falls heavily on top of him.

Somebody pulls at the body. Christ. They'll take him back to Sturges, fix what's broken, but how? How is anybody going to fix this? It hurts in ways that are more than mechanical.

The body falls away and he has only enough control to look at the person before him. He can't speak, can't move, can't even smile. He waits for the bullet in the head. It's all he deserves. Do it. Do it.

But Skinny Malone smiles a shaky, faltering smile of his own, and says, "You here to ruin the rest of my life? You're lucky I'm so compassionate. Else I'd punch you in the face for all the trouble you caused."

Doesn't understand. Skinny puts a syringe in him, Med-X? Stimpack? Can't tell. If he were human it wouldn't matter. With all the energy he can summon he looks into Skinny's warm brown eyes and silently begs him to have a little compassion, or don't, whichever will let what's happened come to its logical conclusion.

But Skinny catches his head in one hand--tenderness, human Nick experienced tenderness and no one has ever given it to him as a synth before--and wipes away the coolant leaking from his eyes. And Skinny begs him, pleads, "I can fix this."

Somebody told him once that nobody hurts so bad they can't be fixed. He wishes like hell that was a lie.


End file.
